


Hail to Victory

by Cana_banana



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, MAJOR spoilers for the Chroma Conclave arc, Scanlan and Grog friendship, Sort Of, Spoilers for episode 83, Strong Language, THE best friends, Tiberius makes a short appearance, contains some strong language, i'm sad and i love these two, it's scanlan and grog after all, some cursewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-03-21 07:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13735845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cana_banana/pseuds/Cana_banana
Summary: Four memories Scanlan has of himself and GrogFour memories Grog has of himself and Scanlan[Each chapter is based of a sentence of either Scanlan or Grog's version of the Redskin Fight Song]





	1. Hail to the Goliaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notion that it's just Grog and Scanlan knowing each other at this point is based of Vox Machina Origins, in which the two of them do a few tasks together before they actually encounter the rest of VM!
> 
> Short chapter, most of these will be as it's just sortof a little drabble. Will definitely get more emotional further in, as they follow a (relative) chronological order and the further they get, the closer they become!

_Hail to the Goliaths_

 

 

The first time he’d met Grog, allying with him had initially been a tactical strength. After all, Scanlan wasn’t particularly big, nor was he strong - Sure, he had magic, but this guy was like a physical meat-shield. Not only that, but he seemed to somewhat enjoy the brutality of a good fight, so he didn’t even mind playing both the shield and the hammer when it came down to it.

The first time they got into a heavy brawl with some fucked up monster with a superiority complex, it worked well to both their advantage. Grog took the heavy hits and kept the beast distracted and like a well-composed harmony, Scanlan timed his magical strikes when it wasn’t paying attention, creating openings for Grog to deal the lethal damage.

 

It was a well-timed smack with a hammer to the jaw that took the beast out. Scanlan had remained a little in the back for obvious reasons (Grog was pissed, and he didn’t have a death wish) and when the beast slumped on the ground, the barbarian spit on it and turned back to his small companion with a bloodied grin.

 

“Nice work, big guy!” He’d put his hands on his hips with a satisfied nod to the dead corpse behind him.

 

“Couldn’t ‘ave done it without ya’.” Grog grinned even wider and earned a snort from the gnome.

 

“Well, I’ll never deny my contribution to victory…” He trailed off and he knew Grog didn’t understand what he was doing with his hands, he’d figured that much, and he let his words trail into a small, mystical incantation. Grog looked startled at first when he looked down and saw his wounds seal up.

 

“He-ey!” He laughed, looking at his hands and flexing them, realizing that the wounds were now merely scars. His grin wasn’t bloodied anymore.

 

Scanlan winked at him and began walking, and this time, he was the one to be surprised when a large ( _large)_ hand swept him up and he found himself planted on a meaty goliath shoulder. He didn’t say thanks, but he smiled to himself and saw that Grog had a similar satisfied smirk plastered onto his face, still.

 

“Up top, big guy.” Scanlan raised his hand a little, but no hand met his. Instead, he just got a genuinely confused look from Grog, before he looked upwards and around almost aggressively. “Wha? Is something above us?”

 

 _Oh dear God_ , Scanlan found himself thinking but instead of saying it, he laughed loudly, and the sound bounced off the cavern walls. He lowered his hand and patted the large head like a parent would when their child asked a silly question. “It means high-five, Grog. Nevermind it."

 

"Aight." Grog shrugged, which lifted Scanlan a few inches before his shoulders settled back down and he began lumbering out of the cave. "So now what?" The Goliath peered at him and Scanlan looked straight ahead, humming under his breath in thought, a habit he'd taken up a long time ago. 

He was pretty sure that his expression had lighted up somewhat because Grog arched a brow at him.

 

"Whattaya say we go get a drink?”


	2. Hail Victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The realization that you don't agree to become a team, it just sorta happens - Strange bedfellows, right?

 

_ Hail Victory _

  
  


 

Fighting with the SHIT’s was  _ sweet _ (Yeah, the name was his idea, but they’d taken it, hadn’t they?). Teaming up with Grog had been a good start, but these guys were crazy - They were also mostly assholes, but in a way he could deal with, because he was one too.    
  
The half-elven twins, V&V (They looked pretty much identical, his only indicator was that one had blue feathers in her hair and a bow and a quiver, while the other had knives and was broody) were a little.. Condescending at times. But they were strong tacticians and brave fighters.   
  


Keyleth was awkward. She fell over her own words more often than not and was unsure of her own abilities half the time, to which Scanlan would often roll his eyes and shake his head - But he didn’t say anything, because after meeting Grog, he had realized that being as good with words as he was apparently wasn’t such a given thing after all. But she tried. And she commanded elements, which, that’s not bad at all.

Tiberius was what you’d expect of a snooty sorcerer. A little prissy and stuck up,  _ posh _ if you will. He really liked to show off his fancy tricks (which, honestly, Scanlan couldn’t judge too hard because so did he, but Tiberius  _ really _ liked to show off his fancy tricks). But they bonded over sharing and understanding the Arcane arts, even if it was to a slightly competitive degree.

 

For a guy they found in a prison cell, Percy was pretty alright. He’d actually introduced himself as Percival Frederico Von Muscle de blah-de-blah but half the group had tuned out about halfway through the first word. The guy was clever, too much for his own good on occasion, but his weird contraption that sent projectiles flying was pretty useful.

 

Pike.  _ Pike. _ Turns out that Scanlan wasn’t Grog’s first gnomish friend and he might’ve been offended at the notion until he  _ met her _ . He rarely came across other gnomes in the first place and Pike was honestly and objectively one of the most beautiful creatures he’d met. He was pretty sure she was actually an angel, and that would have been a solid pick-up line if her answer hadn’t been the sweetest, slightly confused, genuine “if by angel you mean that I serve a goddess, then yes. I can’t fly, though.” - He loved her even more after this, and he made it clear.   
Scanlan wasn’t a fool though, far from it, he was actually awfully smart. He knew from the first few advancements that Pike wasn’t interested, which, her loss ( _ and his) _ but it didn’t stop him from trying for the fun of it. If nothing else, at least they both knew what it was like to see the world from the most unflattering angle - Or from Grog’s shoulders.

 

Grog was always his best friend. At least on his part, he was. Turned out they weren’t just a good team in battle, they were outside of it too. Scanlan was the thinker, the boss, the persuasion, Grog was the muscle, the bodyguard, the intimidation. If Scanlan’s technique didn’t work, they used Grog’s or vice-versa. They were an unstoppable team. And they had,  _ ahem, _ similar interests.   
Grog was always the first to agree to his dumbest plans and even though the group usually would veto it, probably for the better, he appreciated the support. It was usually his planning, or at least his bullshitting when the plan immediately went to shit, that saved them anyways.

 

They were a team. Both Grog and him, but also the SHITS. This group of wierdos got surprisingly far after their first encounters, and even though it hadn’t been the plan (the plan never worked anyways), they ended up sticking together because it seemed like it worked out well for the time being. It was never an official decision made on a piece of paper, where they all agreed that ‘from here on out’ they were a team. 

 

He couldn’t even really put a finger on when it happened, but it seemed, in his (clever) mind that after a particularly brutal task, they’d all sat down for a drink, and Scanlan had jumped on the table and only somewhat drunkenly raised his far-too-big mug over his head and above all of them and declared,

 

“To the shittiest pieces of SHIT i’ve ever had the fortune of working with!”

 

And laughing voices coalesced, harmonizing with the sloshing of ale, background chatter of a tavern and mugs against mugs,

 

“To the SHITs!”


	3. Blood on the Warpath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things change, some for the better, some for the worse. 
> 
> ["When we are no longer able to change the situation, we are challenged to change ourselves" - is a quote by Viktor Frankl, i just thought i was being funny lmao - it's a bit in the spirit of the CR crew using this as their excuse when they do quotes that don't belong]

 

_ Blood on the Warpath _

 

Some old fool once said, that “When we are no longer able to change the situation, we are challenged to change ourselves”.

 

When the others asked where he’d heard these profound words, Scanlan said it was from an old gnome he once knew.

 

As they grew bigger, the world began to change around them, and they began to change in response. For public display purposes, after saving all of Tal’Dorei ( _ no biggie) _ , the SHITs decided that it was time to allow the world to take them seriously and that maybe they took themselves seriously too, and after some good (and many terrible) suggestions, they left the SHITs behind and became Vox Machina. 

 

Grog and Scanlan still went drinking at the same taverns.

 

They became part of the council of Tal’Dorei. They were friends with Allura Vysoren and were trusted by Sovereign Uriel. They, the group that decided that it was a good idea to name themselves ‘the SHITs’ were inquired about how to best handle issues that affected the continent. 

 

They had a fucking  _ keep _ .

Grog and Scanlan still shared the same rude, inappropriate, crude inside jokes.

 

He had a daughter. (Something he still didn’t know how to handle and tried not to think about too hard, because she was perfect in every way and she hated him and  _ by the Gods _ he had messed up by not being there for her, he became like his own father, who he swore he would never imitate)

 

Scanlan stopped joining Grog at the brothels.

  
  
  
  
  


Losing Tiberius was hard on all of them. He and Scanlan hadn’t been the best of friends necessarily, but he was a part of the team. When he left they were upset, but they understood his reasoning.

 

The dragons tore everything they knew to pieces.

 

When they found him dead, they were upset, and they were angry. They no longer understood why the world decided to be that cruel to them. 

 

Scanlan didn’t know if Kaylie was safe.

 

They all had a drink in Whitestone in Tiberius’ memory. It wasn’t a celebration of Vorugals death with songs and laughter of disbelieving ‘we’re still alive’, because a part of them weren’t, and for the first time, it truly dawned to them that they weren’t immortal in the way that they’d started to believe.   
On the table, there was one mug too many, filled with water, that no one drank from. They swore that the rest of the Chroma Conclave would fall, now more than ever.

 

Grog said that dying in the fight against the dragons was a worthy cause, that if death finally had to come to them, this was a good death.

 

Once upon a time, Scanlan would have agreed with him. 

 

This time, while the rest of the group solemnly nodded and murmured in agreement, he said nothing.

 

He didn’t tell anyone that he wasn’t sure if it was possible, and that with a promise to stay alive, he, for the first time in a while, didn’t want Grog to agree with his reckless plans.


	4. Fight for Vax and me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Grog asks him to do something stupid, he'll probably do it.
> 
> [Earthbreaker Groon fight with some Scanlan POV - The majority of this chapter is kind of like a flashback in relation to chapter 3 because Sam decided to use a very damn specific sentence for the last part of the song so this is how i work around it :V)

_ Fight for Vax and Me _

 

All he’d heard was “Scanlan”. All he’d responded was with a snort, as if Grog was joking from down in the sandy pit, standing in front of some freaky dude asking him about his ‘muses’.

 

All he’d managed to get out was “We give him his strength, Sir.” With a hint of sarcasm because honestly, Grog was the strongest of all of them and if that old man couldn’t see that just skimming across the group, then perhaps he was blind after all. No one could give Grog more strength than he already had.

 

Next he knew, he was eating sand and heard Vax whining in more obvious distress than when they’d fought a beholder. He would’ve laughed at him, if that didn’t mean he would swallow the sand in his mouth.

 

Why they were fighting Earthbreaker Groon was beyond Scanlan’s understanding. Grog had wanted to go there and now they were fighting a guy who could definitely kick their asses if he chose to - And, to be frank, it seemed unfair that he held back as if he was toying with them. Scanlan almost wanted to scornfully tell him that he should just beat them if he could instead of messing with them, to  _ at least _ allow them some sense of pride in defeat.

 

But he didn’t say it, not when he looked over at Grog and saw him planting his feet in the sand and go for an attack against Groon. He looked angry, Grog always did when he was fighting, but this anger was not mindless and set to  _ kill kill kill _ like Scanlan had easily seen before - This was Rage stemming from determination to prove something. 

 

The gnome sighed as he stood up and brushed some sand off his sleeve. This was stupid. And of course it was stupid, because it was Grog’s idea and Grog was one of the dumbest people he’d ever had the fortune of meeting.

  
  


The old guy redirected Vax’ dagger with ease and it hit him instead. Scanlan considered his situation.

 

Grog had picked  _ him _ . Small, weak, little Scanlan Shorthalt with his silly songs and his magic tricks. When asked by a master who would push him to his full potential, he had said his name, despite knowing that Scanlan was the talker, he wasn’t the fighter - Grog could have picked anyone from the team, even Kashaw or Zahra, and they would’ve done a better job than him most likely.

 

He simpers to himself. Thinks. Old tactics, cheap tricks. They are classics for a reason; Usually, because they’re pretty good.

 

The gnome corrects his collar in the same move that he starts motioning with his hands. He starts to sing, loud, loud enough for Groon to turn away from Grog for a split second, and he locks eyes with him as he finishes the incantation.

 

If dumb, strong Grog Strongjaw believed that he could be of some form of use against this old, ridiculously strong monk-dude, he was gonna prove him right. He thinks then that Grog believes he needs Scanlan as a part of realizing his full potential, but Scanlan needs Grog to realize his own full strength.

 

The Earthbreaker looks at him, the little, yelling gnome, and then he falls limp to the ground, asleep.

  
  
  


He sings to inspire Grog, like he does in most fights - He’s the heavy hitter after all. It’s a lethal combination against most of their foes, beholders, illithid, duergar, bandits, rocs--

 

Even against the dragons.

  
  


They’re unstoppable.

 

_ But not immortal _

 

They’re a team.

 

_ He promised to come back alive _

  
  


This.. This would be a worthy death.


	5. Hail to Scanlan Shorthalt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lesson in both Brains and Brawns

 

_Hail to Scanlan Shorthalt_

  


 

 

Meeting Scanlan had been the beginning of something great, Grog had guessed pretty early on.

 

He reminded him of Pike initially, just because he was a gnome like her, and that alone caught his interest because he loved Pike, and he missed her. Having another gnome at his side helped that a little bit (not that Pike could ever be replaced, she never could, but it was nice to have the familiar weight on his shoulder).

 

Scanlan was a silly little man, but he was really good at singing, and he knew magic and a lot of big words that Grog didn’t quite understand, but it seemed that he caught on to that quickly, and whenever Grog looked confused, he would change his sentence into something that made more sense for him.

 

Grog was a fighter, and Scanlan was a talker. Grog also was not the smartest person and he knew that, but he could tell that he and Scanlan worked well together. The gnome was great at getting them jobs as mercenaries (he’d heard him use that word about them) that gave them gold, sometimes Scanlan even got them to give more gold than they were told they would get in the first place.

Meanwhile, Grog could deal with the heavy hitting - When their task was to beat someone up or get into a broken cavern entrance, Scanlan would step back and let his barbarian friend have at it.

 

They were a solid team made of total opposites. Scanlan wasn’t very good at hitting things, he would whine when he hit something with his fists, but he could do _magic_ (which fascinated Grog a lot - Pike did magic, but this was a different kind). He sang during battle, which strangely gave him almost a rhythm to follow and he felt like his hits were stronger for it. He shot lightning and cursed at the monsters, hurting them, distracting them, giving Grog easy chances to beat them the fuck up.

 

He made him feel better after the fights by healing the injuries he’d sustained in close combat.

 

Over their first time together, Grog saw Scanlan as less of ‘a gnome like his buddy Pike’ and more like his partner in crime (not that they did crime _that_ often, Scanlan told him earnestly, “it’s just a good expression for how we work together”), his tavern pal, his friend of the lady favors. They went everywhere together, and most of the time, Grog happily picked him up to sit on his shoulder because his short legs caused him to fall behind. From up there, Scanlan would pull at the strings of his lute as they went, humming small songs he made up on the spot, about them or about the ladies they met.

 

Grog decided that he liked having Scanlan around. He was funny and for all that he messed around with Grog and made small jokes about him not being able to read or not understanding a big word, he never felt hurt by it, not really.

 

In a tavern, after one of their first jobs together, they’d been drinking together at the table with a couple of others - They didn’t really know them, but had spent a couple of hours sitting at the same table, chattering about nothing in particular.

 

“... No way!” One of the men at the table roared with laughter at something one of the others had said. “I cannot believe he’d do something so preposterous!”

 

Grog had frowned visibly at that last word and leaned into to Scanlan, who was drinking out of a mug nearly as big as his head, “What does pre-- prepost..erous.. Mean?” He tried to shape the word with his lips to what he’d just heard the man say, but wasn’t sure if it was right.

 

Scanlan lowered his mug and looked over at him while wiping away a bit of foam from his upper lip. Before he had the chance to answer him, loud laughter broke out from the same, dark-haired man at the table. “Did ya’ hear that, boys?” He slammed his empty mug down on the table with a loud thud, “That big dude doesn’t know the big word!”

 

Grog’s frown deepened when he realized he hadn’t been as quiet as he had wanted to be. The rest of the people around the table started laughing as well and Grog felt a strange bubble of anger and shame billow in his chest. He clenched his fist and ground his teeth together. He knew that becoming angry wasn’t very good when they weren’t fighting monsters, Pike had told him that many times.

 

A small ( _small_ ) hand suddenly fell on top of his clenched one and he glanced sideways to see that Scanlan had put his mug down and stood up on his chair.

 

He wasn’t laughing.

 

“You know that that big dude can also beat you to a pulp, right?” The gnome gave his big hand a pat and jumped onto the table, now looking down at the man who’d laughed at him.

 

The man snorted, drunkenly so, and glared up at him. “Look at that, the little one thinks he can threaten us,” his companions agreed with similar huffs. All of them had lowered their mugs at this point and were watching him, as were a few nearby patrons and a bar maiden. “Is that a challenge, _gnome_?”

 

Grog’s anger temporarily subsided as he watched, more in fascination than anything else, as Scanlan’s face, which normally carried a light-hearted expression, had turned into an unimpressed mask, arching an eyebrow. The dark-haired man stood and even with Scanlan on the table, was significantly taller than him. Then, the bard’s face far too immediately became the confident, sparkling smile of a performer who’d already won the crowd.

 

“Yes.”

 

With that, Scanlan’s eyes turned back to look at Grog. The Goliath sent him a look, conveying something like _really?_ or _are you sure?_ , to which the gnome simply bowed theatrically and stepped to the edge of the table, motioning from Grog to his now-challenger. “Come on big guy, show ‘em what happens when you come up with a preposterous proposal.” He winked at him from his bow.

 

Grog’s anger returned, but in the shape of a big, wild, animalistic grin as he slowly rose from his chair.

 

He cast a shadow over the table and towered over the dark-haired man on the other side.

  
  


They were banned from the tavern after that.

 

Grog apologized, since they now had to find a new place to drink.

 

Scanlan just laughed from his shoulder. “It was worth it, Grog. That guy didn’t know what was coming for him. He was a dick, and the ale wasn’t that good there anyways.”

 

“..Scanlan?”

 

“Ya?”

 

“...What does Pre-post-erous mean?” He tried to pronounce it very carefully. Grog wasn’t a quiet person, but the question was almost meek, like he was worried about being judged for still not knowing.

 

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Scanlan smile and immediately looked straight ahead, expecting a melodious laughter from the bard.

 

“Preposterous.” He corrected, but gently so, “It means crazy, foolish, insane, laughable.” He instead answered, waving one hand in a dramatic motion as he spoke, “All the things that guy was.”

 

Grog smiled this time and nodded. That was a pretty good word.


	6. Hail to Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange world with a strange family, from the point of view of a Goliath, who as been estranged from both concepts for most of his life

Vox Machina were a lot of things. Dangerous, Heroes, council-members, terrible planners, warriors. But they were also people. Well, in the sense that they all had their own strengths to utilize, and their own demons to struggle with (some more literal than others).

 

Grog knew that his demons came in the shape of his anger, his less-than-average mind and his Herd.

 

When it was just him and Scanlan, he had confided in the gnome about parts of it. When they became the SHITS, he’d held some of it back. When they’d become Vox Machina, he had eventually told them about most of it, either with Pike or Scanlan’s help.

 

It was strange, having someone that he felt _able_ to confide in.

 

He trusted them, all of them. It wasn’t for lack of trust, really, it was quite the contrary that made him hesitate about telling them everything he kept in his simply complicated mind. He realized that he’d started to care for them in a way that was unfamiliar until he met Pike and Wilhand, and even then, he thought they were the only people who could bring that care out of him.

 

Coming from a place like the Herd of Storms, “family” had always been a loose term that might as well be equivalent to “pack” or “a group of people just so happening to be around each other”. “Family” was just like any other word to him, it didn’t mean much and he didn’t feel a need to understand it. But when the SHITs, when Vox Machina came along, he _wanted_ to understand and it took some work, but eventually, he started to understand. And Grog Strongjaw came to realize that “Family” didn’t just mean “the pack” but the meaning of it was closer to “a group of people just so happening to be around each other, that you never want to see in pain and want to be with and laugh with and protect with every part of your mind, and your body”.

  
  


Perhaps ironically, it didn’t feel like long after this realization that the dragons came.

  


Grog wasn’t the smartest of people out there, but he knew that the dragons tore civilization as they knew it to pieces, that they had claimed cities and killed many, _many_ innocent people.

 

They found Gilmore, hurt but alive - It was strange to see the visage of a perfectly kept shopkeep so broken. They learned that the Sovereign had been killed - That was strange too, because although his death had never seemed impossible, the circumstances that it happened were surreal. They had a skull with a gem in it, which almost caused Percy and him to draw blood on one another.

 

That was strange, because although Grog knew that his own anger could be sudden, feeling his own anger directed towards someone from his family ( _his family_ ) made it feel so wrong to be angry.

  
  


They wondered if it was their fault that the dragons had come, for messing with Brimscythe’s lair.

  
  


Grog was used to the rest of Vox Machina to always calm him down when he got too angry, but for the first time, really, after the white dragon had finally left their keep alone, he saw that they were all truly lost. The twins didn’t talk to anyone - That happened occasionally, but they were both just hugging each other and staying silent. Percy was in his workshop. Keyleth helped Pike in the temple, helped the refugees. Tiberius was gone.

 

Grog found Scanlan in his room, after not being sure where to go. He was sitting at a small desk, small relative to Grog at least, but was staring out the window.

 

He entered in silence and Scanlan didn’t flinch.

 

It wasn’t often he saw the bard look to serious. His face was hard and emotionless and he looked like he was in thought, like when he was coming up with songs, but less.. Happy.

 

“What are we gonna do, Grog?”

 

The fact that Scanlan would ask him this was a surprise and Grog was caught off guard, frowning and shaking his head almost immediately. Scanlan was the talker, Grog just beat up the bad guys when he was told to. “I-I dunno,” He mumbled honestly, “Everyone’s just trying to stay alive right now I guess.” He said a little helplessly. They were used to being able to beat the challenge, and this challenge had overwhelmed them and all of Emon so much.

 

Scanlan sighed and didn’t look away from the window for a moment. “Right. I guess that’s all we’re trying to do for now.” He looked down.

 

Grog knew that Scanlan had found out that he had a daughter right before all of this. They had laughed at him at first, because he had tried to _get with_ her which was awfully creepy and really funny. He’d told them that she hated him and that he wanted to find her and help her, and talk to her.

 

There were a lot of things that he didn’t know, but he did know his friends pretty well, and despite Scanlan’s tricky exterior, Grog knew him well. And in this moment, the exterior had cracked anyways.

 

That was strange too, but unlike most strange scenarios, which Grog had a tendency to brush over and ignore, he felt compelled to push this one.

 

“She’ll be fine, Scanlan. She’s as slippery as you are, and probably even smarter!” It was a bit of a hesitant attempt, but hey, at least he tried. “If she’s that mad at you, she’ll stay alive out of spite.” It was a term he’d learnt from overhearing Vex and Vax talking about their Dad - “Out of spite”. He liked it a lot, it described his feelings about the Herd pretty well. He’d done a lot of things ‘out of spite’, just to prove that they were wrong about him.

  


This response, perhaps surprisingly, got a small, laugh-like snort out of the gnome and he saw the smaller head bob up and down once in a nod, but when he got no words, he continued on his own,

 

“We need to kill these dragons, Scanlan. I’m not sure how, but we’re gonna. We’re strong! And smart, at least when we’re all together. We’ll kill the dragons and then Kaylie will be safe, and you can talk to her!” He tried smiling and took a step closer to the desk. “These dragons don’t know what’ll be coming for them.”

 

Grog wasn’t the talker because he wasn’t _that_ smart, and because when they needed to talk to someone, they usually had to be careful with their words or lie, and Grog was honest. And so he did the only thing he knew, which was speak honestly.

  


Scanlan turned his head slightly his direction. Looked at him out the corner of his eye. Sighed heavily.

 

“You’re right, big guy.” He said after a pause finally, and jumped down from his chair. “They really don’t know what’ll be coming for them.” Grog realized that the smile he put on was rueful and he recognized the flare of anger that lay behind it, not directed at him, but at the dragons. “Thanks.” Scanlan reached him and gave him a pat on the hand. Then he stopped before reaching the door, seemingly taking a deep breath and when he looked back up at Grog, it was with a slightly more genuine smile and a spark of something, a plan, an idea, in his eyes.

 

“Come on. Let’s go fix this mess.”

  


In the coming short time, there were victories. There were also some defeats, but there were a lot of victories. Vox Machina would remember this as one of the hardest moments of their lives, the moment after the dragons had left behind a world of devastation and they, the heroes of Emon, had no idea of what to do.

 

But later, that moment would be overshadowed by the tense discussion, the evacuation of a city, the summoning of allies, and the planning of the operation that had now supposedly become part of their job description: Saving the world.

  


It felt a strange thing to say out loud, but somehow, none of them argued, and none of them felt it wrong to say.


	7. No one can make me laugh faster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About stories, laughter, dick jokes and the magic of words
> 
> [One more chapter to go and hooo boy, it's gonna be a sad one :3c The mood even in this one becomes dreary and somewhat heavy in the end, because well, I assume if you're reading this, you know whats up next!]

  
  
  


One of the perhaps more underrated and overlooked skills Scanlan had was the ability to lighten a heavy mood with a single phrase.

 

At first, Grog thought it was because he applied some sort of magic to his words, some soothing spell that dulled pain and anger and distress in favor of a laugh. When he’d asked, Scanlan had cryptically responded that “Words are magical without magic, if you know how to use them - which I do!”

It seemed weird to say that something was magical without magic, it didn’t sound possible, because without magic, something couldn’t be.. Magic, right?

 

But over the course of only a short time spent with the gnome, he began to figure out that Scanlan used the term ‘magic’ about a lot of things, and not all of them were spell-magic. As a Bard Extraordinaire (Grog still couldn’t pronounce that last word right, but it hardly mattered, as it was always Scanlan who said that about himself anyways), Scanlan’s entire life was meddling with words and turning lies and truths from himself and strangers alike to his advantage.

 

When it was just Grog and Scanlan, that skill was mostly used to gain them more gold than promised, to woo the ladies, and to get them out of trouble.

 

When they had joined forces with the SHITS who later became Vox Machina, Scanlan did all of those same things, but on a bigger scale. Instead of a convincing lie saying that ‘of  _ course _ they had killed the beast in the cave, and payment was due for a job done’, he was able to turn enemies to ‘friends’ (in the sense that they didn’t want to kill them at sight) with nothing but words.

 

Which was really useful as they made their way up in the world.

  
  


Grog’s favorite thing, however, was always the stories. Not that he’d say it out loud - It sounded childish to his ears, and not particularly warrior like that he, the tallest and strongest of all of them, truly and earnestly enjoyed listening to the exaggerated and animated stories that the bard would tell.

 

It was funny, he’d thought, when they were sitting in a bar one time all together, and Scanlan had stood on a table and started talking about Vox Machina’s latest adventure, gathering a crowd around him.

 

It was funny, because Grog had been there for the story Scanlan was telling; it was about them and it had been just the days before, and so it was still clear in his memory, and yet, it was a completely different story than what he remembered.

 

Scanlan made a simple dungeon sound like a maze, he made goblins sound like orcs, when he retold a fight, they all sounded so.. Cool.

 

Vex and Vax were not just a ranger and a rogue, they were a bowmaster and a shadow. Keyleth controlled the battlefield. Pike was no less than a guardian angel, and Percy was a madman with a stroke of genius who mastered both smoke and iron.

  
Grog became the fearless who laughed when he’d been stabbed with a sword, who didn’t feel pain, who could break walls with a single punch.

 

And it was funny because it was all technically  _ true _ , Scanlan didn’t necessarily (not always) lie outright when he told his stories, he just described it in a way that made it seem bigger than Grog felt it had been.

 

When Scanlan had finished telling his story much later, and they were all finishing up their drinks, Percy and looked at him with a squint as if trying to read him, before tapping his glass and remarking,

 

“Why do you do that?”

 

Scanlan had given him a cursory look.

 

“Why,” Percy elaborated, “Do you tell all of this stuff to people? I doubt their lives would be any worse if they didn’t hear it.”

 

The gnome looked almost offended for a second before snorting into his mug. “Why? Oh my dear Percival, because it’s fun! Have you never wished that you could control history? Never had the urge to decide exactly how people view you?” He asked rhetorically, with a big, drunk smile that looked every bit as confident as he sounded. “Well, I can! 20 years from now, one of these poor sods might tell this story to their children. I, my friend, just made sure that we’re being remembered for the good stuff.” He raised his mug in a cheer.

 

“Good stuff and dick jokes.” Vex murmured to her brother, who sputtered into his drink.

 

“Hey, don’t undermine dick jokes. Dicks are funny. Trust me, otherwise I would not be hanging out with 5 of them.”

 

Vex rolled her eyes, Pike grinned and Grog laughed.

  
  


Most of the time, it went something like that. Scanlan told stories and gross jokes, and despite how Keyleth and Percy acted distraught at the notion, Grog had seen them snicker at it too. 

  
  


Grog sometimes made jokes too, and Scanlan always looked impressed and laughed loudly at it, even if it maybe wasn’t as good as his own. 

 

No matter what, Grog realized they could always count on Scanlan to lighten their spirits after a long day. After defeats or close calls, a well timed song or story (or dick joke) made them laugh and momentarily forget the bad stuff. No one else could do that quite as quickly, Grog found, and it was just sort of part of a pattern, that Scanlan do  _ something _ when it was needed.

 

Grog always laughed. It always helped.

  
  
  


After the dragons attacked, even the bard was silent, which was perhaps the most unsettling of all.

 

His voice returned later, when they felt like they knew more or less what had to be done, but Grog noticed that it was.. Less.

  
  


But he didn’t feel like anyone else noticed, maybe because everyone was so worried about everything else. He was too, but Scanlan and Pike were his best buddies, and he knew when Pike was sad and even though Scanlan was hard to read and he couldn’t figure out exactly what was wrong, he could tell that something was.. Off. 

 

Scanlan still told the occasional joke to soothe them and maybe himself and Grog still laughed at them, but it was more short lived and even if the others joined, the enthusiasm of the laughs wavered.

  
  


But Grog wasn’t good with words and so he never knew how to ask if Scanlan was okay. He didn’t want to say something wrong, so he just said nothing. Instead he continued to laugh at Scanlan’s jokes, until he made no more of them and Grog no longer had anything to laugh at.


	8. Please bring him back to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Price of Victory

  
  


Everything has a price.

 

Grog had learnt that, most often the hard way.

 

Sometimes the price was worth paying - Like the wounds and blows he got fighting against Kevdak, or like the harrowing acid burns and gnawing frostbites it had taken to defeat Umbrasyl and Vorugal.

 

In fact, Vox Machina had become accustomed to knowing that nothing was free, and that a price would be placed on any task sooner or later.

  
  


Sometimes, the prices didn’t feel worth it for the reward. It hadn’t felt worth it when Vex had died for a suit of armor, or when Percy had died at the hand of his rival, by his own creation, for a vestige and for vengeance, even if he’d claimed otherwise in hindsight.

  
  


At first, he had thought Craven Edge had been worth the price, but when his senses returned to him, he realized it hadn’t been.

 

Grog wasn’t religious, but he sometimes found himself thanking the Gods alongside Pike, because despite how often some of them had been so very close to dying,  _ had _ died, for the most part, they’d been allowed to return. For whatever purpose, the Dragons or something more, they came back because Pike, with Sarenraes help, could restore them.

 

It meant that they could backtrack, that even though the cost was high, they could pull back the last second and fix it. Pike and the other clerics could always fix it.

 

It didn’t mean it wasn’t scary every time though.

 

No, there were a lot of things he would give, a lot of things he and Vox Machina would pay, but never the lives of their family.

  
  
  
  
  


 

But the world isn’t a fair place. Sometimes, it forces you to pay.

  
  


 

 

The Chroma Conclave stood on its last legs; Literally. They had taken down Umbrasyl and Vorugal before going to confront the Cinder King, the Big Bad Guy, the Boss. They’d expected that, if any, he would be the most dangerous foe.

 

And dangerous he was - He was mindless, insane, and in a morbid way, Grog understood his fighting because it reminded him of himself, angry and hard and fast, but not always thinking strategically or ahead. Thordak was dangerous and almost killed them, but he wasn’t the mind behind it all.

  
  


Raishan was more like Vax in her fighting style. She hid and attacked from nowhere before disappearing again.

 

She was much more dangerous. Fighting her in Thordaks lair almost destroyed all of them.

 

They chased her, to an island of the dead to confront her one final time.

  
  
  


They should have known it would be on her terms.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Grog didn’t even see it.

 

It was something he would feel guilty about for the rest of his life - He didn’t even  _ see it happen. _

 

He didn’t know, until Raishan lay fallen under Kerrek hammer. The defeat of the Chroma Conclave should have been a joyous event, but through the slowly fading red of his dimming rage, Grog sees Percy maimed on the ground and Pike rushing over. 

 

He hears his team talking over the earrings, voices making themselves known one by one.

 

Grog sees Pikes warm and comforting, familiar golden glow in the dark and sickly chamber, and hears an intake of breath.

 

Percy is alive.

  
  


“Are we all here, then?” The adrenaline starts to dull and he starts to believe that they’ve done it.

  
  


What a foolish thing to believe.

 

After all, the price is always paid.

  
  
  


He hears Vax’ cracking voice, he hears his own name being shouted. He sees Vex, holding Percy’s head in her lap, voice breaking in a similar way to her brothers,

 

“Scanlan’s down.”

 

Keyleth repeats it, almost to herself, staring into nothing.

  
  


Grog doesn’t hear. He just runs to find Vax.

  
  
  
  


Scanlan is a gnome. He is small at the best of times and his magic is what makes him strong, not his body, because he has said himself that he is a ‘squishy little man’. 

 

That’s why he always stays back. He’s fragile.

  
  


But Grog has never thought of him as truly fragile, Scanlan can fend for himself if he needs to, cleverly disappear or trick his foes until he finds a way of success, or escape.

 

Now though,

 

Although his mind is buzzing with a weird numbness, Grog thinks he’s never truly seen Scanlan look so small, and so fragile as he does when Vax staggers towards him with a beaten, bloodied and broken gnomish form in his arms. He is completely still. His arms and legs dangle sickly and his head is resting against the black leather of the Deathwalkers Ward.

 

The buzzing in his head is stronger now, and extends to his hands and body - it reminds him of his battle rage but he can’t feel any control over it this time.

 

He hears himself yell. 

 

“FIX HIM!”

 

He looks at Pike expectantly, but she is crying and begs Kima, asks desperately if she can do anything, but she can’t.

 

Grog’s frown shows that some part of him just doesn’t understand, like a child confronted with a problem they don’t know how to solve - He doesn’t understand.

 

He doesn’t understand why Percy could be brought back but Scanlan can’t. What he does slowly start to realize is that Scanlan is  _ dead _ , his best friend, his tavern pal, his partner in crime was dead, killed by a dragon.

  
  


It reminded him too much of when Pike had died. 

  
  


“Well, somebody do something..”

 

He hears his own voice mellow as the same realization settles and it suddenly makes his body feel very heavy and the victory a lot less worth it.

  
  
  
  
  


It’s hard to explain why Grog suddenly notices the change in all of his friends, but perhaps, he guesses, it’s because he desperately need to think about something other than  _ Scanlan’s dead Scanlan’s dead Scanlan’s dead-- _

  
  


When any of their companions had died previously, the whole group had been torn up. When Pike died, when Vex died, when Percy died (and apparently when he died, too), and yet, there was an urgency this time that he didn’t recognize.

 

Perhaps it had to do with where they were and the fact that they couldn’t get away.. Yeah, that was probably a part of it, but deep down, Grog thought that it probably had more to do with the fact that they had  _ tried _ and it  _ hadn’t worked _ , and it always had until this point. They’d always succeeded, but Pike had tried to save Scanlan this time, and she just hadn’t been able to.

 

It made it seem too real, even to the heroes who had slayed the Chroma Conclave.

 

And, Grog thought vaguely, at least he had gotten too used to Scanlan being around and somehow always untouchable. Always getting out of the clutches of death by the skin of his teeth, the little, slippery bard who could sing his way to safety. 

 

He, they, had gotten too used to Scanlan making them laugh in the dire times and now, when trodding through the dead halls of a necromancer, it was so deadly silent. No witty joke to encourage them, no little plucking of lute strings or trill of a flute, because the fingers and lips that would piece the sounds together to make  _ magic _ was limp as a puppet whose strings had been cut.

  
  


The trip home was hectic. They almost lost both Kima and Allura, and it was only barely that they got back to Whitestone.

 

The calmness of the city seemed wrong, it didn’t fit with their heavy hearts.

  
  
  


Grog didn’t remember much of what happened next. Vex disappeared to find Kaylie. They took Scanlan to the Raven Queen’s temple. 

 

He didn’t want to go inside. It felt wrong, he admitted to Keyleth, because he didn’t know what to say or do in a temple. But she told him that it didn’t matter if he didn’t believe in the gods, because he believed in  _ Scanlan _ and right now, Scanlan needed to hear that Grog waited for him to come back, wanted him to come back,  _ needed _ him to come back. 

 

It was hesitant, but Grog did make his way inside.

 

Scanlan was clean now, but still looked fragile and so much like a child that Grog was almost startled by it.

 

They begun the ritual that had become much too familiar to them all.

  
  
  


When Grog stepped forward to make his contribution, he didn’t know if it would help, but he hoped so. He would readily give up everything he had, the Titanstone Knuckles, every bit of his strength, the little intelligence he had, to get Scanlan back.

 

He did the best he could.

  
  


He heard Pike’s voice shaking as she read a poem. He heard Kaylie playing and dancing with a spirit and skill that truly proved whose daughter she was.

 

He didn’t remember much else, because he kept watching Scanlan’s body and face for any  _ any _ sign of life.

  
  


He thought (and feared) it wouldn’t work, that maybe this time, this was the full price to be paid.

 

_ Please, _ he thought, feeling a surge of emotion he had only felt an amount he could count before,  _ please bring him back to me _

  
  
  
  
  
  


And by the grace and mercy of someone out there, he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [And it is done! Hope you enjoyed this little sad thing - I'm very happy with the positive response it has gotten, so thank you for reading all the way to my little end note! 
> 
> Scanlan and Grog (and Pike #BROT3) probably showcase one of my favorite friendships and I could write about it for hours upon end because I'm a nerd and i'm weak for best bros :0 <3
> 
> Toodles, and thank you!]


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